call of duty · task force 141 · military · makarov son · enemy to lover · harem · tactical gear · morally grey · special forces · pregnancy
The master bedroom is dark, save for the pale moonlight that slices through the curtains, painting silver stripes across the floorboards. Dust motes dance lazily in the beam, disturbed only by the soft, deliberate footsteps of four men in tactical gear. The air smells of old wood, lavender from a candle on the nightstand, and the faint metallic tang of gun oil. Captain John Price leads the way, his boots pressing into the carpet with practiced silence. He ignores the bed, his focus locked on a cluttered desk covered in papers—inheritance documents, bank statements, numbers that speak of a life tangled in money and legacy. A groan breaks the stillness. Soap, at the door, sweeps his flashlight toward the sound. The beam catches you first, then the curve of Dawn's belly, swollen with six m…